The Coldest Heart
by carryonmy-waywardson
Summary: Sylar meets a mysterious man that's just like him. This stranger shows Sylar the monster he can be, and teaches him that bad people - just like them - can have fun. AU, of course.


**Pairing:** Sylar/Soulless!Sam Winchester.  
**Warnings:** slight dub-con, slight sadomasochism, blood play, knife play.  
**A/N:** I wrote this, randomly, and I hope I got Sylar's mannerisms correct - or at least _halfway_ correct.**  
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The world was quiet and dark, peaceful almost, as Sylar drove down the road; one of his hands wrapped in bloody bandages, laying limp against his leg. He was on the run, yet again, after acquiring his latest power - the ability to read minds. It was just a joke of a power; nothing like the telekinesis, precognition, the ability to hear sounds being magnified, or even the freezing and heating. But, he had to admit that mind-reading _could_ come in handy one day, especially if someone had information he _needed_ and they wouldn't spill the beans - verbally, at least.

He was somewhere in the back roads of Kansas, in some town close to Lawrence, where he was headed; hoping to find his next power. There had been talk, among the dicks at the Company, that there was a man in Lawrence that could go invisible and walk through walls. So, Sylar had stolen the address, along with a car, and headed East, toward Kansas.

When Sylar pulled onto the highway, his hand started throbbing, and he could feel blood pouring from his wounds. Hissing, he gripped the wheel tighter and flexed the fingers of his injured hand; making a horrible groaning noise in the back of his throat. The thought of stopping for the night was out of the question - or at least it _had_ been until now.

Reluctantly, Sylar slowed down at the sight of some out-of-the-way motel along the side of the road. He pulled in, listening to gravel crunching under his tires, and bit his bottom lip at the pain in his hand. Parking, Sylar shut the car off and got out, keeping his hand relaxed at his side, hoping the pain would go away soon.

The air was chilly, and it blew across his fingers; causing him to both hiss, and sigh at the sudden breeze. It felt good against his injured hand, but it also made the wound _burn_, though it was covered up.

"I'll get a room, and just stitch myself up - I'll be fine." Sylar muttered to himself as he walked into the motel's reception office. The room was small, homely, and maybe _too_ warm for Sylar's liking, but he accepted it anyway. Walking to the desk, Sylar's eyes fell on those of a red-headed woman sitting behind the large desk, a magazine in front of her.

With an annoyed sigh, Sylar lifted his good hand to ring the tiny, silver bell on top of the desk. When it rang - three times - the girl looked up, bright blue eyes locked on Sylar's deep brown irises. She smiled brightly at him - the _only_ factor that made Sylar decide it wasn't worth his time to kill her - and shut her magazine.

"How can I help you?" There was a slight southern accent in the tone of her voice, and, for reasons unknown, that made Sylar smile. Leaning against the desktop, Sylar kept smiling at the young lady as he spoke.

"I was just wondering if you had any rooms available. I've been driving all night, and I just need a wink of sleep." Sylar imitated her slight accent and smiled brightly at her, which caused the woman to blush. She nodded, before dropping her eyes to a book on the desk; her fingertip running along the side.

"You're in luck; we have only one room left." Her eyes were back on Sylar and he nodded gratefully, turning the facade on fully. The woman told Sylar how much the room would be for a night, and he shook his head; fishing in his pocket for his money.

"Tell you what, sweetheart," he smiled as he counted the bills out - the room was _only_ fifty dollars for the night, but Sylar counted out three times that amount. He put the bills on the desk and winked at the receptionist. "The rest is if you would, please, refrain from sending someone to my room for a turn-down service. I'm a very private man, miss - I'd really appreciate it." The same, brilliantly fake smile was plastered on Sylar's face as he watched the woman blush, listening to her giggle.

On the inside, Sylar wondered how someone could be so happy - so _bubbly_ - talking to a stranger, especially knowing that they could be killed at any time. _Oh well_, he pushed the thoughts from his mind as the receptionist handed him a key and smiled brightly at him.

"Enjoy your stay." Sylar nodded at the woman and slipped his hands into his jacket pocket as he turned, heading back out into the cold night. When he stepped outside, Sylar felt like he could breathe again; it was just him, and the cold, lonesome night - no more miss happy-go-lucky. He chuckled at that thought as he moved to the car and grabbed a small bag of his belongings before making his way to his room.

As he walked down the line of numbered doors, Sylar could hear various noises - the sound of some sort of leather, he guessed, slapping against flesh, along with the muffled sounds of pleasure. Rolling his eyes, Sylar kept moving; stopping at his room and unlocking the door quickly, slipping inside the dark room.

"Home sweet home." Chuckling, Sylar turned the light on and locked the door, moving to the bed. He opened his bag and fished around the bottom for a small first aid kit he'd always carried with him.

"This is so inconvenient," He muttered, pulling the small box out of the bag before dropping it onto the bed. Sylar knew that if he found Claire - precious, sweet cheer-leading Claire - he could have the ability to heal himself, so first aid kits would no longer be necessary. But, that was in the future, and Sylar was, unfortunately, in the now; with a busted up hand, knuckles gashed from glass.

Sighing heavily, Sylar peeled back the bandages, wincing as the dried gauze pulled away from his skin, making him bleed more. He muttered curse words before dropping the bloodied mess onto the floor, and grabbed his kit and headed to the bathroom.

The light in the bathroom hurt his eyes and he could hear the bulb buzzing, which only made his _head_ hurt. Sucking it up, Sylar turned the faucet on and ran his hand under the warm stream of water; a mixture of a sigh and a hiss escaping his lips. He watched as water, mixed with his blood, swirled around the drain before disappearing, until the water was mostly clear.

Sylar pulled his hand back and patted it dry with the towel hanging on the rack beside the sink, before opening his first aid kit. He grabbed a needle, along with thread and set it on the edge of the sink, searching through the box for a lighter.

He kept searching until his fingers hit something cold and hard; pulling a Zippo lighter from the box and grinning. With another sigh, Sylar picked the needle up with his injured hand as he flicked the lighter open with the other; igniting the flame before touching it to the end of the needle.

After a moment of heating the needle, Sylar pulled it away and snapped his lighter shut, before threading the needle and slipping it into his good hand. He was shaking slightly, but breathed in deeply, instantly calming himself before the needle dug into his skin. Biting his lip, Sylar breathed in through his nose and continued to stitch himself up; pulling the thread tightly, making sure his wound was properly closed.

"Fuck." Sylar breathed as he finished the last of the stitching, snipping the end of the thread and listening to the needle clinking against the sink as it fell. Looking down, Sylar appraised his sutures; they were clean, for the most part, and almost professional. He smiled softly and shut the light off, staggering back into his room before falling onto the bed.

Sylar fell asleep from the dull throbbing of his hand and awoke the next morning, greeted by sunlight pouring through the blinds. Groaning, Sylar set up in the bed and rubbed his eyes, yawning softly before he was on his feet, slightly uneasy. He didn't give his body, or eyes, time to adjust to the wake-up call, before he was stripping of last night's bloody, dirt-crusted clothing; switching them for a fresh pair of clothes.

After he was dressed, Sylar collected his things and shoved them back into his bag, before making the room appear as it had last night; like no one had slept in the bed, or inhabited the place in days. When he was satisfied, Sylar grabbed his belongings and walked out of the door, headed toward the motel's office. He opened the door, greeted by a blast of warm air, and headed to the desk, dropping the keys on to the hard wood.

No one was there, behind the desk, so Sylar shrugged and walked out of the building, heading toward his car. Opening the driver's side door, Sylar tossed his bag into the backseat and turned the car on. In no time, Sylar was back on the highway, headed to Lawrence, Kansas; thirteen miles from the cheap motel he'd just left.

The drive was a rather simple one, filled with idiot drivers, and Sylar's murderous thoughts. The hunger was there, he could feel it deep in his gut; growling and just waiting to be unleashed. He tried anything to soothe it; listening to happy - well _happy_ to him - songs, and trying to ignore the idiots on the road. None of that worked, because, when a dark blue Charger cut in front of him, Sylar laid on the horn.

"Fucking idiot!" Sylar yelled, honking the horn again as he tried keeping himself from flipping the bastard off. The car slowed down and Sylar sighed, rolling his eyes as it veered off the road, onto the shoulder. He followed, pulling his car behind the other, and shutting it off, jumping out of the car.

"Can't you see I was there, asshole?" Sylar yelled as he approached the car, tapping furiously against the glass. The windows were tinted, so Sylar couldn't see the person in the car, not until, that is, they opened the door. The man that stood in front of Sylar could only be described as big; scary big, but it didn't intimidate Sylar.

_I don't have time for this, you fucking dick._ Sylar heard in his head and winced, doubling over as he panted. The whole _mind-reading_ thing was completely new to him; this was the first time it had happened since last night, and it threw Sylar off guard.

"I did see you, you're right, but can that piece of shit go _over_ forty?" The voice Sylar heard was emotionless; dry, and low, much like his own. When he straightened up, their was a pair of hazel eyes boring a hole into him, and he snarled.

"Yeah, it can, but unlike _you_, asshole," Sylar got in the other man's face and whispered, "I don't want to get a ticket." The other man chuckled and rolled his eyes, head falling to the side slightly.

"Look, I don't want to have to kick your ass for all of these people to see, but I won't hesitate, got it?" The hazel eyes were burning on Sylar's and he took a step back instinctively.

"Just chill the fuck out and maybe try not to cause an accident next time." Sylar growled before he turned and walked to his own car, opening the door and climbing in; slamming the door behind him. He started the car and sped off, leaving the strange man in the dust, watching as he disappeared from the rear view mirror.

There was something weird, but strangely comforting about the stranger, and Sylar couldn't shake the feeling that they were exactly alike. The look in the other man's eyes was expressionless; black, hard, and drained completely of emotion. Much like the way Sylar's looked, when he dared to look in a mirror.

He drove two miles down the road, only to glance in the rear view mirror, seeing a familiar dark blue car behind him. Sighing, Sylar pulled onto a side road, not surprised when the car followed him, and shut his own vehicle off. Climbing out of the car, Sylar walked up to the other one; watching as the door opened and the tall man stepped out.

"What, you're a stalker now?" Sylar chuckled, the dry, humorless noise sounding strange coming from his mouth, and raised an eyebrow. The taller man just shrugged, taking a step closer to Sylar, with his hands in his pockets.

"Not usually, but when a wanted serial killer confronts me about my driving.. Well, I think you see the problem." The strange man had a small smile on his face, and Sylar recognized it as one of his own, the ones he would fake that is.

"And how do you know if I'm a killer?" Sylar squinted at the man as he stepped closer, his good hand held out. He calculated how long it would take to snap this man's neck, and leave without a trace; but he decided to hear what he had to say.

"I've seen your picture. Actually, it was given to me, by a close colleague of mine. Said I had to find you, and also said that you were coming out here for a mister Bryant, am I right?" The smile on the stranger's face grew wider as he stepped closer, bridging the gap between the two of them. Sylar swallowed hard, dropping his hand to his side as he squinted doubtfully.

"Who are you?" Sylar spat out as he clenched his fist at his side, feeling his palm grow hot with his rage. The stranger just smiled, chuckled with little humor, and shook his head, brushing a hand through his hair.

"My name is Sam, and I catch men like you, sorta." The smile turned into a half grin, and Sylar felt the man's - _Sam's_ - hand wrap around his bicep. "Why don't you just follow me back to my motel - we'll talk, and maybe if you're lucky, I'll turn the other cheek; say you escaped."

Sylar read Sam's mind, which lacked of _all_ emotion, and shuddered at some of the things the strange man was thinking. There were images of a fire, people _burning_, and Sylar swore he could hear screaming, followed by laughter.

"And who's to say you won't kill me? What if I'm not a killer - what if I'm just amazingly handsome?" Now it was Sylar's turn to smile brilliantly at the man standing in front of him, as he shrugged away from his touch. Sam shrugged his shoulders and splayed his hands, sighing heavily.

"I know what you can do, Mr. Gray - or shall I say, Sylar? Like the watch, not very clever, if I do say so myself." Sylar huffed out a frustrated laugh and rolled his eyes, backing up to his car with his hand lifted. He gave his wrist a twist and Sam's body fell to the ground, hands flying to his throat.

"And you, _Sam_.. You shouldn't have followed me. Especially if you know what I'm capable of - if you know that I truly am a monster.." Sylar took a step forward and knelt in front of Sam, twisting his wrist again; causing Sam to choke.

"I could snap your neck so fast, you'd _never_ see it coming." Sylar was whispering now, his voice soft as he leaned in, eyes level with Sam's. "Or I can let you go, and we can both go our separate ways.. You could forget you saw me, and I can forget that you'll be go back to the Company and tell them you found me, just like a good little boy."

Sam made a strangled noise and opened his mouth to speak; only to have gurgling noises coming from his throat. Sylar laughed and let go of Sam, watching as he fell to the ground, gasping for air and running a hand over his throat.

"I don't," Sam coughed out as he sat up, eyes locked on Sylar. "I don't work for any _company_, Sylar." _I'm telling the truth_, Sam thought to Sylar and watched the man nod, before standing up.

"Then, who are you?" Sylar slipped his hand back into his jacket pocket, watching as Sam scrambled to his feet and dusted his suit off. Hazel and brown eyes locked once more, and Sam sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"I'm a hunter. I kill things that are labeled 'supernatural' or 'unexplainable,' which… you seem to be both." With another chuckle, Sam took a step toward Sylar, watching as he backed up before stopping in his own tracks. "I won't hurt you, if you come back with me. Obviously you're already hurt," Sam tipped his head to the hand Sylar had shoved deep into his coat pocket.

"How do you—" Sylar started, but Sam shook his head.

"I just do, now follow me back to my motel and we'll just talk - I promise." Sam nodded at Sylar before heading back to his car, getting in and turning around; headed back for the highway. Sylar took a second to think about it, before finding himself climbing back into his car and following Sam.

Sylar didn't know what compelled him to follow Sam - he thought _maybe_ Sam was one of them; maybe he had the power of persuasion, but decided that was unlikely. So, here he was - driving the piece of shit _stolen_ station wagon down the highway, chasing after the dark blue Charger. When Sylar caught up with Sam, they were on the outskirts of town, at an even smaller motel than the one Sylar had stayed the night in.

Both men climbed out of their cars; Sam, headed for his room with Sylar on his tail. They walked in, and Sam shut the door behind them, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, motioning for Sylar to sit. He sat down on the bed and pulled his hand from his pocket, wincing as he, slowly, flexed his fingers again.

"Here, let me take a look." Sam sat in front of Sylar, taking his hand gently and running a thumb across the fresh stitches. _I don't really give a shit, you know that_? Sam thought as he observed the wound and Sylar swallowed hard, watching him with wide eyes.

"Then why are you looking at it?" Sylar asked, keeping his mind open for telepathic answers, instead of verbal ones. _I used to be human once - I mean, a drooling, weeping, sack of emotions. That all changed, though._ Sam continued to look at Sylar's hand; turning it over and chuckling when he winced.

"What happened?" Sylar closed his eyes and a few seconds later his mind was filled with images of fire, blood, and pain. He tried to open his eyes, thinking the images would go away after they were open, but they were still there; planting themselves in his brain. _That's what I saw for a year, except it was only about an hour on Earth._

"Where were you?" Sylar gasped when the images left his mind and he pulled his hand from Sam's, a little too fast. He winced at the pain in his hand and looked at Sam, who had a small smile on his face. _Hell._

Sylar shook his head, not believing that someone could _actually_ go to Hell and back, and live to tell about it. Actually, Sylar didn't believe in Heaven or Hell - just that when you die, you die; your "soul" doesn't go to an afterlife destination. His face must have given him away, because Sam was leaning back in the chair, an amused look on his face.

"Sounds crazy, I know, but Lucifer and Michael have my soul as their own personal play thing. No way to get it back, so I am a permanent drone; completely drained of emotion." The sound of forced laughter filled Sylar's ears and he closed his eyes, leaning back on his elbows, hands on his lower stomach.

And, before either of them knew it, Sam was pressing Sylar down against the bed, his teeth sinking into his neck. Sylar let out a surprised yelp and let his head fall back, eyes shutting. It _was_ a surprise for Sam to jump on him like that, but Sylar wasn't complaining; he liked the pain of Sam's teeth as they sank deeper into his skin.

Sylar felt something warm and wet trickling down his skin as Sam pulled away, and arched his back; feeling his cock grow hard in response to the biting. Chucking, Sam settled himself on Sylar's hips and lifted a hand, brushing his fingertip along the blood on his neck.

When there was enough blood on his fingertip, Sam pulled his hand away and brought them to Sylar's lips; brushing the blood along them slowly, painting them crimson. Grinning, Sam leaned in and sucked the red liquid from Sylar's lips, moaning as the taste of iron and salt filled his mouth.

Then Sylar was on his back, hands pinned above his head as Sam dipped his head down, pressing his mouth against the puncture marks on Sylar's neck. He sucked the blood deeply, sighing and shutting his eyes as he ran his tongue along the marks, feeling Sylar shuddered underneath him.

Sam moved his hips against Sylar's, feeling how hard the man underneath him was getting, and grinned, sitting up. As Sam looked down at Sylar, he felt blood trickling down from his lips and licked at it, moaning softly.

"You're a freak," Sylar chuckled, but secretly he _loved _it; he loved having this strange man pin him down and bite him, making him bleed. He also loved that Sam was being rough, that he wasn't taking things slow or hesitating with stupid talks. Honestly, all Sylar wanted in that moment was to fuck Sam, to have the roughest sex he's had in a while, and walk away; washing his hands clean of the kid.

There was a growl coming from deep in Sam's chest as he began tearing Sylar's clothes off; throwing them on the floor carelessly before moving onto the next article of clothing. When Sam had stripped Sylar down to his boxers, he reached into the back of his slacks, pulling his knife out and smiling down at Sylar.

When Sylar saw the blade of the knife, he shuddered and pushed himself against Sam, making a needy sound in the back of his throat. With an even bigger grin, Sam dropped his hand down, running the blade along Sylar's chest and digging in; watching the silver pull toward his own body, followed by a trail of crimson.

An electric shock went through Sam's body as he cut Sylar and he dropped the knife onto his lower stomach, moving his fingers toward the cut. Sylar was panting when Sam pushed his fingers against the wound, and moaned loudly as he felt a fire erupt in his chest. The fire, of course, came from both the pain in his chest, and the sudden _lust_ that flowed through his body.

Sylar made a whimpering nose as he felt Sam drag his nails along the cut, and down his stomach; trailing blood down his skin. The feel of Sam's skin against his own, combined with the warm sensation of blood trickling down his side made Sylar's cock harder and he pushed against Sam even rougher.

"Be patient, Sylar." Sam growled as he leaned down, lapping at the cut on Sylar's chest, feeling him arch his back and listening to a low hum rip from his chest. Smiling in success, Sam pulled away and licked his lips, grinding his hips against Sylar's. _Do you want me to fuck you, Gabriel?_

Sylar nodded frantically, writhing under Sam as their hips ground together; his teeth gritting together as he felt his cock throbbing against his boxers. Sam's familiar, forced chuckle filled the room and only made Sylar want Sam to fuck him even more.

_Say it. Say, 'I want you to fuck me, Sam,' like a good little boy._ Sam chuckled in his mind and Sylar groaned, body falling against the bed and all writhing ceasing. He sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but groaned instead as felt Sam running the hilt of the knife against his covered cock.

"Oh fuck! I want you to fuck me, S-s-sam.." Sylar moaned out, hips bucking up against the wood before it dropped away. Sam's weight lifted from Sylar's body as the bed springs creaked, and Sylar opened his eyes; gaze falling on Sam as he started undressing. The whole strip-tease made Sylar whine and push his boxers down, giving Sam full-view of his hard cock.

_Nice_. Sam smiled as he grabbed a condom from the pocket of his slacks, before dropping them to the floor. With a wicked grin, Sam pushed his boxers down, holding the condom wrapper between his teeth as he dropped the last article of his clothing onto the floor.

Sam was hard, throbbing, and ready to go by the time he opened the wrapper and pulled the condom out. It was lubricated on the inside, and outside, which was just enough for Sylar - at least it would _have_ to be. As he rolled the latex down his cock, Sam kept his eyes on Sylar; watching as drops of blood ran down his chest, and licked his lips.

_Hands and knees, Gabriel._ Sam used Sylar's real name, and heard him moan out, chuckling in triumph as he watched as Sylar moved onto his hands and knees; obeying Sam's unspoken command. Sighing, Sam stood at the edge of the bed and gripped Sylar's hips roughly, pressing the head of his cock against his entrance.

"Aaaah… Sam, ow.." Sylar whimpered out, head dropping down against the bed as Sam pushed in deeper; his muscles stretching around Sam's cock. There was barely enough lube for Sylar to feel comfortable, and the sudden pain he felt when Sam slammed deep inside of him seemed to make his cock even harder than before - if that were possible.

_Sylar.._ Sam moaned out in his mind, panting heavily as he reached for his knife; the blade dancing along Sylar's side as Sam moved his hips roughly against the other man's ass, listening to him groan out. Smiling, Sam pressed the blade against Sylar's skin again, cutting a long stripe down his back, parallel to his spine. Sylar screamed out at the combination of pain - there was the _fire_ he felt on the inside, and the sharp, hot pain from the cut on his back. None of these things caused his erection to go away, but, instead, made it worse; making it throb against the bed.

"Sam.." Sylar panted out just before Sam started fucking him harder; pulling out of Sylar's ass _just_ to slam back into him, as roughly as possible. There was a strangled cry from Sylar's throat as he felt Sam hit his prostate, and he moved his bad hand down, wrapping it around his cock. Jerking to the rhythm of Sam's hips, Sylar nearly screamed when he felt the heat radiating through his body.

His vision went white-hot, and he breathed heavily, groaning Sam's name as he came all over the sheets, hips bucking as his orgasm hit. _I didn't say you could cum yet,_ Sam thought as he pressed his hand around Sylar's fresh cut and drove into him harder; feeling sweat pour down his body, and a shiver run down his spine.

Whimpering, Sylar moved his hand away from his cock and bit his bottom lip, drawing blood into his mouth. He drank his own blood greedily and pushed back against Sam, making sinful noises each time his cock slammed deeper inside of him. _I'm getting… Oh, god.._ Sam thought before he moaned out, a strangled noise followed by a grunt, just as he came, hard, inside of Sylar.

Shuddering, Sam pulled from Sylar and fell to the bed, panting roughly. There was blood, sweat, and cum all over the bed; all over _them_, and Sam chuckled. He looked at his hands, saw the bright crimson that covered them and wiped them on Sylar's sweat-slick back.

"Holy fuck." Sylar breathed as he fell on the bed, crying out when his chest came in contact with the bed, his cuts burning slightly. Sam only chuckled more and stood up, walking to the bathroom. Sylar watched after him and sat up, eyebrows raised.

"I expect you to be gone when I get out, along with all traces of you." Sam didn't turn as he spoke, just kept walking until he was in the bathroom, and the door shut behind him. Sylar took a minute to catch his breath, and collect his thoughts, before moving around to gather his clothes; listening to the shower turn on. After getting dressed, Sylar took all of the bloody, messed up sheets and balled them up, tossing them into the trash can.

Then he went to search for a lighter, and found a book of matches on the night stand. Chuckling, Sylar tore one off and struck it; tossing it into the trash can with the sodden bed linens. Watching the blaze, Sylar heard the shower cut off and he ran out of the door, shutting it just as Sam left the bathroom.

Sylar made his way to his car, wincing at the way his shirt rubbed against his cuts, and bit his lip; feeling a little excited. Taking a deep breath, Sylar climbed into his car and turned it on; leaving the motel parking lot, and leaving all memory of Sam behind him.

He didn't expect to meet a man just like him, let alone _fuck_ him, but, in a weird way, Sylar was glad he did. It showed Sylar that there _were_ people out there just like him; people without emotions, and that were driven by primal instinct alone. Maybe he would forget Sam, in time, but the scars would still remain; the marks that showed him that monsters _can_ have fun.


End file.
